


Flirting With Danger

by RiverStoleDeansImpala



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23222554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverStoleDeansImpala/pseuds/RiverStoleDeansImpala
Summary: I do not own any of these characters (though I've created a character). There are a few flashback scenes to the TV series. Some strong language.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	1. 221B Baker Street

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of these characters (though I've created a character). There are a few flashback scenes to the TV series. Some strong language.

A lone man returns home to his flat. The address is 221B Baker Street. The man is tall, slim, but with a muscular build, a mop of dark brown curly hair, high sharp cheekbones, full lips with a deep cupid’s bow upper lip and striking, vivid, turquoise eyes. This is Sherlock Holmes. He heads up to his flat. Just before entering, he notices a light floral perfume scent and his door isn’t completely shut. He pushes the door open and sees a tall, striking woman with long, dark brown, wavy hair is up in a pin-up style and dark brown eyes, curvy, wearing a midnight blue, calf length cocktail dress sitting in his chair, her long legs crossed at the ankles. She’s wearing black heels. His eyes take in the fact that she’s reading a tabloid that’s a few years old. He recognizes it. It’s one from Janine’s interview. 7 times in one night. He feels a blush coming to his cheeks. He opens his mouth to address the woman. She speaks first, never looking up from the tabloid. He closes his mouth.  


“Seven times? My my. I’m thinking that’s her wishful thinking.” She sets the tabloid down on the small table in front of her and stands. “I do have to say, though, you are definitely something. Till next time, my dear.”  


She starts to move passed him, but he stops her. She looks at him, bemused.  


“Who are you?” He notes that she has a slight Irish accent, and it has a familiar cadence to it. Can’t place it, though.  


“Hmmm. Elizabeth.”  


“Surname?”  


She smirks at him, tracing a finger along the side of his face, and then curling her fingers against her chin. She regards him. She slips out of his grip, but stops to go up on tiptoes to kiss him on the lips, her tongue lightly teasing his lips, shocking him. Cheeky bird. She leaves, leaving him bewildered. As she heads out the door, another is walking in. A shorter man, slightly stocky build, hair a somewhat peppered color of wheat, cut neatly short, friendly features, though an air of someone not to be trifled with about him. This is Dr. John Watson. He glances at the woman as he holds the door open for her, feeling attracted to her, he smiles at her as she walks past. Sherlock hears her thank him as she walks out. John closes the door and heads upstairs to the flat and sees Sherlock still in the doorway looking contemplative. His hands together, prayer-like, index and middle fingers touching his lips.  


“So, who was that?” sees a slight shadow of the woman’s lipstick on Sherlock’s lips. This amuses John somewhat. Tapping his own lips, he says, “Not quite your shade, Sherlock.”  


Sherlock sighs and goes back into the flat to the mirror. He sees a hint of the lipstick from the woman. With his thumb, he removes the color from his lips.  


John tries again. “So, who was she? New girlfriend or are you doing to her what you did to…” he sees the tabloid on the table, “Janine.”  


“She had that. No, she’s not my girlfriend. I’ve no idea who she is. She said that her name is Elizabeth, but she didn’t give me a surname.” He takes one more look in the mirror to make sure that all of the dark reddish lipstick was gone and turns back to the tabloid.  


He grabs gloves from a box on his desk and puts them on. He picks up the tabloid and examines it. He can smell her floral perfume on the paper. His mind runs through different perfumes, trying to come up with the scent. CHANEL? DIOR? COACH? His mind finally settles on the correct one. Acqua di Santa Maria Novella. He flips to the page that he knows she had been looking at. At the bottom of the page, she has written her mobile number. And just her first name next to the number 1000. He had no idea what that was supposed to mean.  


“1000? Is there supposed to be a clue there?” asks John.  


“1000. 1000. 1. 0. 0. 0. I O O O?” He sits in his chair. Hands together in their position. John goes into the kitchen, knowing that Sherlock will be going into his ‘mind palace’  


But it doesn’t take that long. His mind goes to the roman numerals. He instantly converts the number into the roman numeral for 1000.  


“M. Roman numeral M. Her surname starts with the letter M.”  


“Well, there’s that, but it still doesn’t tell you who she is.”  


“She’s Irish, the way that she speaks is familiar, but I can’t quite place it, her surname starts with an M, expensive perfume, she’s intelligent, she knows that the interviews with Janine are false, she gave the first clue to her surname as a number, probably to see if I could catch it, something there, not sure, well dressed, well kept, her makeup impeccable, her manicure, perfect, and she’s cheeky.”  


“Kissed you on the lips instead of the cheek, very cheeky.”  


They listen to all sorts of clients, with Sherlock getting more annoyed. None of them interest him. John leaves for the afternoon to spend time with his daughter. Mrs. Hudson is back downstairs. Sherlock is sitting in his chair. Head in his hand, eyes closed. He’s startled by a voice.  


“Tough day, sexy?”  


His eyes pop open. He lifts his head.  


“Elizabeth M.”  


“Mmmm. You got my clue. Good boy.”  


He starts to look around at her. “I know my Roman…” he sees her with his bed sheet wrapped around her like a towel and his words catch in his throat. “Numerals.”  


She saunters over to him. Sherlock gulps as she reaches him. He sits upright, back in his chair. She puts one hand on his shoulder while hitching up the bed sheet like a skirt and straddling his lap. His breathing quickens. She puts her arms around his neck. He keeps his hands on the arms of his chair.  


“You really are, you know.”  


“I am what?”  


“Mmmm. Sexy. Been just waiting to run my fingers through those gorgeous curls of yours. Kiss that mouth, again.” Using a finger, she moves a curl off his forehead before leaning down to kiss him. He gasps in a sharp intake of air, but he doesn’t pull away. His mouth, instead, moves against hers. One of her hands moves down his chest. Sherlock shifts a bit in his chair. He lifts a hand to her head and entwines his fingers in her hair. His mouth opens against hers. He about jumps when her hand slips down to his crotch. She starts to unzip his trousers, but he stops her. He finally pulls away from the kiss.  


“What is your surname, Elizabeth.”  


“Can't you deduce that?”  


“Elizabeth.”  


She rocks her pelvis against his cock. Sherlock’s breath catches and his breathing quickens even more. He gulps, his Adam’s apple moving. She looks down into his eyes. She can see the lust in his eyes. She takes his hand and shifts the sheet so that she can put his hand on her mound. Sherlock feels a shiver going up his body and his erection growing. His hand moves against her, as if on its own. He pulls her head down for a very heated kiss. She unzips his trousers and pulls his straining cock out. She lifts herself and moves his hand so that she can slide down onto his hard cock. Sherlock gasps and Elizabeth’s head tilts back and she gives a small moan. Sherlock places his hands on her hips. Her hips rock on him. He tilts his head back, eyes closing, and a small groan escapes him. Her rocking speeds up. She leans her head down and kisses him. His right hand goes to the back of her head, fingers entwining in her hair, his left slips around to the small of her back. She rides him harder, rocking into a near gallop. His left-hand slips back around and tugs at the bed sheet, removing it. His hand kneads her breast, lightly pinching her nipple. She gasps into his mouth. She grabs hold of the chair behind Sherlock as she rocks her pelvis faster around his cock. Sherlock grunts as their movements get faster, harder and tighter. He moves his hand from her breast to her ass. Elizabeth releases his mouth and arches back, her orgasm coming swift.  


“Oh, God! Sherlock!” She gasps.  


“Bloody hell!” He tilts back into his chair, eyes closing. He moans as his climax racks his body.  


Elizabeth collapses against Sherlock’s chest, her breathing fast. She can feel that his breathing is fast and his heartbeat is rapid. She kisses his neck. Creating a small bruise. Sherlock moans lightly, he opens his eyes. He tries to slow his breathing.  


“Admit it, Sherlock. You needed that.” She sits back up. She lifts herself up and off of him. He groans. She reaches down to put him back into his trousers, zipping him back up.  


“Do I need to admit anything?”  


“Well, I have to admit that what we did was amazing. I definitely needed that. I needed you inside of me.”  


“Why was it important to you that we have sex?”  


“Oh, don’t tell me that you didn’t enjoy that, Sherlock. Because, I’m thinking that you had some pent-up frustrations.”  


“Something I tend to alleviate with drug use.”  


“Oh, but, honey, this is so much healthier than that. Plus, much more fun.” She kisses him hard, hands on his cheeks.  


She gets up from his lap and saunters back to his bedroom, the sheet trailing behind her. She drops the sheet just before the door. Sherlock looks at it with some annoyance. He stands up and follows behind, picking up the sheet. He walks into his room and looks around. She’s gone. He sees the curtain gently flapping with the breeze. He goes over and looks out. He doesn’t see her. He closes the window, locking it. He remakes his bed. He gets ready for bed and climbs in, his head filled with thoughts of Elizabeth.


	2. The Following Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just Sherlock getting embarrassed in this chapter.

The following morning, Sherlock dresses and goes out to his sitting room, where Mrs. Hudson is puttering around. His tea is on the small table in front of his chair. John walks in, carrying a small bag of groceries, which he sets on the kitchen table. He turns and sees Sherlock picking up a cup of tea, but that’s not all he sees. He sees a small bruise on the side of Sherlock’s neck.  


“Did you fall and hit yourself?”  


“What? No, I didn’t fall. Why do you ask?”  


Mrs. Hudson, over near the fireplace, turns and looks at Sherlock and sees the hickey. She chuckles. Both John and Sherlock look at her.  


“What?” asks Sherlock.  


“I think I’ve missed something,” replies John.  


Mrs. Hudson shakes her head in amusement. She gently pulls Sherlock's collar down a bit before replying.  


“That, Dr. Watson, is a love bite.”  


Sherlock quickly goes to the mirror, Mrs. Hudson’s hand falling away, to look. He blushes before an annoyed look crosses his face. John’s face shows complete surprise and amusement.  


“Dammit.”  


“Oho! And just who gave you that lovely hickey, Sherlock?” teases John.  


“Mrs. Hudson, is there a way to hide this? I’d rather clients didn’t see it.” He runs a hand through his curls, agitated.  


“I might have some concealer.”  


They watch as she goes back downstairs and another person walks in the room. Sherlock rolls his eyes as he turns to go to his violin. He picks it up, but, figures, before playing, that the violin won’t hide the bruise. He remains with his back turned on the gentleman. This guy is well built with short, sandy colored hair, tall, and has a fairly friendly face. This is DI Greg Lestrade.  


“Mrs. Hudson seems amused about something good.” He looks at John, who is leaning against the wall, still amused. “Same with you, John.”  


“And with good reason.”  


“John.” Sherlock cautions.  


Bad timing, Mrs. Hudson has returned with concealer.  


“I did have some concealer, Sherlock.” She trills.  


His shoulders slump and his head dropped backward, his eyes shutting and he sighs, waiting for Lestrade to say something snarky.  


“Why are we needing concealer? Did you get a shiner or something?”  


“He has a bruise, just not –”  


“John!” Sherlock snaps and turns his head a bit in his general direction. John chuckles, arms crossed, ducks his head for an instant.  


But Lestrade has now guessed, correctly, in part thanks to Mrs. Hudson and John’s amusement, as to what that bruise actually is.  


“Nah, can’t be? Is it?” He looks at John, who is grinning and trying very hard to not laugh.  


“Bloody hell.” Sherlock hisses under his breath. He turns and Greg sees the small bruise on Sherlock’s throat.  


“Well, well. Who’s the lucky gal?”  


“I’d have to say that he had a visit last night from our mysterious Elizabeth M. Am I right, Sherlock? Because I highly doubt that it was Irene.”  


He sits down and Mrs. Hudson starts applying the concealer over the hickey. He doesn’t answer, but Mrs. Hudson chimes in.  


“I did hear some, um, interesting sounds coming from up here, Sherlock.” At this, Sherlock blushes. All 3 notice, Mrs. Hudson pauses and looks back at Greg and John, both with different looks of astonishment on their faces.  


“Did he just blush?” Greg asks, incredulous.  


“He did.” John’s just as amazed.  


Sherlock looks away “Oh, for God’s sake,” he swears, and Mrs. Hudson continues to apply the concealer.  


“Well, then,” says John. At this a new sound interrupts them. A new ringtone. One that none of the occupants in 221B have ever heard. It’s not Irene Adler’s breathy moan, but one that sounds like a woman having an energetic orgasm. And it’s coming from Sherlock’s mobile sitting on the desk. Mrs. Hudson is appalled, John and Greg are shocked, both of their jaws drop, and Sherlock feels almost scandalized.  


“That’s not Irene’s ringtone, Sherlock.”  


“No. No it is not.” He sighs and picks up the mobile, almost afraid to pick it up.  


MORNING SEXY. LET’S DO THAT AGAIN XX  


Sherlock puts the phone in his pocket without replying. He sighs, putting his hands, prayer like, up to his mouth in thought.  


They have potential clients walk in. Finally, one has something that intrigues him.


	3. On the Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our detective gets an interesting surprise

They are at a small theater in the heart of town. John is back in the offices, investigating, Sherlock is backstage behind the back curtain. He is taking in everything, trying to gather clues. A voice that he wasn’t expecting breaks into his concentration.  


“Interesting to find you here, gorgeous.”  


He whips around to find Elizabeth standing in the wings. She winks and disappears behind the curtain. He hurries to catch her.  


“What are you doing here, Elizabeth?” he asks, catching up to her, grabbing her arm and turning her to face him.  


“I was in the area and saw you and the good doctor wander in. I love this little theater. So many nooks, crannies and alcoves.” She sees that the hickey has been covered up. She smirks.  


“Yes, very funny with that love bite.”  


“Actually, didn’t realize that I marked you.” She moves up closer to him, but Sherlock tries to keep her at length. She, on the other hand, will have none of that. Quick as a flash, she throws an arm around his neck. Sherlock’s head moves backwards, his lips parting slightly.  


“I am so going to love these games between us, Sherlock.”  


With that, she leans up and kisses him full on the mouth, kissing him for a few moments, letting her hand play in his curls. He kisses her back, not being able to resist, his tongue caressing hers. Before they can really get into it, she leaves, leaving Sherlock slightly dazed. Then, his mind clicks. Something she had said and how she said it sticks hard in his mind. John comes in to see the look on Sherlock’s face, as well as the familiar dark shade of lipstick. He sighs, pulling out a clean handkerchief. He tries to hand it to Sherlock, but he’s not paying attention.  


“Sherlock?” a pause. “Sherlock? You ok?”  


“Games.” He finally sees John trying to hand him the handkerchief and takes it, wiping it at his mouth. He looks at it and sees the lipstick come off onto it.  


“What? Games? What are you on about?”  


Sherlock looks up at John, turning the lipstick stain towards John.  


“She said games.”  


“Not that odd of a word. Not sure how she found us here, though. Left just as quickly, too.”  


“It was how she said the word.” He starts to smile, and then he frowns.  


“Sherlock?”  


“What’s more, I now know who she is. The game is on.” He strides away and down the steps from the stage with John hurrying to keep up.  


“Who is she? Don’t keep me in suspense.”  


Sherlock, in answer, has, instead, pulled out his mobile, speed dialing someone.  


“Hello, brother mine, can you be useful and pull up some information for me?”  


On the other end, Mycroft replies, “What are you needing me to find?”  


“Anything you can find on an Elizabeth… Moriarty.” John’s head whips around at the name and stops walking.  


Mycroft responds, but with some trepidation, “I’ll see what I can find. I’ll get back to you.” He hangs up.  


“Moriarty, Sherlock. You said Moriarty. You sure?” John asks.  


Sherlock stops and turns to see where John is. He walks back to him.  


“Yes. That night with Jim Moriarty at the pool when we met him. You remember? He said the word game”

“I’ve shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid, just to get you to come out and play. So, take this as a friendly warning… my dear. Back off. Although, I have loved this, this little **game** of ours.”

“Oh, dear God. She said it like he did?”  


“Exactly like he did. Siblings tend to sound similar to each other. When they’re close in age, their way of speaking, even more so. As Mycroft and I aren’t that close in age, our cadences are slightly off, plus, we rarely played together as children. So, hence, he and I don’t exactly sound alike. So, our diction is ingrained from our parents, instead.”  


“And Eurus, being taken away at a young age, made her sound different than the two of you?”  


“Exactly. She took her speech patterns from her wardens.”  


He turns and starts walking again, John walking fast to keep up. Outside, they hail a cab. They get in and a few seconds later, Sherlock gets a text from Mycroft.  


SHE OWNS APPLEDORE. MH Sherlock is surprised at this.  


GET ME A HELICOPTER. SH  


ONE WILL BE WAITING FOR YOU AT THE DIOGENES CLUB. MH  


Sherlock leans up to the driver.  


“Diogenes Club, instead, please.”  


“Diogenes Club? Are we meeting with Mycroft?”  


“You are. I’ll be heading somewhere else.”  


They pull up to the club and both get out. John pays the cabbie and the cab leaves. John heads up to the door and stops. He turns to see Sherlock heading to the waiting helicopter. He’s confused as to why Sherlock would need a helicopter, but shrugs it off. He heads inside and finds The Stranger Room with Mycroft inside.  


“Um, Sherlock said that you wanted to speak to me and he’s heading somewhere in a helicopter.”  


Mycroft, who had just started to pour tea for himself, looks up. He stands upright and sighs in disappointment, shoulders dropping. He shakes his head, rolls his eyes and pours a second cup, handing it to John.  


“He’s heading to Appledore. He should have taken you along. My brother always believes that he should do everything himself.”  


“Why is he on his way to Appledore? What purpose?”  


“Elizabeth Moriarty owns that mansion.”  


“Oh, God. He’s going into a lion’s den.”  


“There’s more. She didn’t buy it, she inherited it.”  


“Excuse me? Inherited it? How? She would’ve had to have been related to Magnussen.”  


“By default.”  


John ran that phrase through his head. Mycroft stood there, patiently waiting for the good doctor to reach the meaning. John’s mouth starts opening and closing in shock. He looks at Mycroft.  


“You can’t mean that she was –”  


“His widow. Magnussen had no will. They had been married for approximately 10 years. As he had no children, theirs was a legally binding marriage, and he had no other family, his estate, by default, passed on to her.”  


“Bloody hell. And you didn’t relay any of this to Sherlock?”  


“I put a folder in the helicopter. He’ll have everything read by the time he gets there. He won’t be happy with what he reads and less happy with the knowledge that he knows that he’s the one that made her a widow.”


	4. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to A Scandal in Belgravia and a revelation about Sherlock.

In the helicopter, Sherlock is leafing through the folder that Mycroft compiled for him. He puts it down and pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. He can’t believe the coincidences. He feels the descent of the helicopter and looks out at the familiar mansion. The helicopter lands on the lawn. He looks up to see Elizabeth standing on the balcony looking at the helicopter. She has a smirk on her face. He watches as she walks back into the house. He steps out, ducking until he’s clear of the helicopter. He walks up to the mansion and up to the balcony. The glass door has been left open. He enters. He sees Elizabeth pouring 2 glasses of wine. He sees that she is wearing a deep crimson dressing gown, no shoes, and her hair is loose, falling in gentle waves down her back. She picks up both glasses and offers him one, which he takes, but doesn’t drink.  


“You don’t trust me, do you?”  


“What ever gave you that idea, Lady Magnussen?”  


She gives him a withering look. “Please don’t call me that. I may have married that bastard, but I never lived with him.” She turns to walk over to a couch.  


“Name only, then. That doesn’t surprise me. If not Lady Magnusson, then Lady Moriarty.”  


She’s halfway to a couch when Sherlock says this. He sees her pause and then slowly turn around. She frowns. Sherlock gives her a look.  


“And you figured that out, too. My marriage license, since you knew who I was married to.”  


“Actually, it was how you said the word game. Exactly like your brother Jim Moriarty.”  


“But, I’m not him. Sherlock, I’m not like my brother. Well, not anymore. I don’t have him telling me what to do. He was often pulling me into his schemes. The last straw was him trying to get me to mess with you.” She goes and sits on a couch and sips her wine. “I wouldn’t do anything to this wine, by the way. Too expensive. So, do, please sit.”  
Sherlock sits in one of the recliners, crossing his long legs, his arms resting on the arms of the chair, still holding the wine glass. Elizabeth brings her legs up and tucks them to the side, leaning back, an arm leaning on the arm of the couch. She sips her wine.  


“You said that your brother wanted your help with messing with me.”  


“He tried before Reichenbach. Before his suicide and your faked suicide. I refused.”  


“Why did you refuse when you apparently went along with everything else?”  


“I was married to Charles, but living in a flat over near Hyde Park. He only wanted to marry me to get information on my brother. Which he had a difficult time doing since he actually had no idea where my flat was. A client of my brother’s put it under her name.”  


“You wanted to hide from your own husband right after marrying him. Interesting.”  


“He was disgusting. An arsehole. Can you blame me?” she sips her wine before continuing. “I received the paper one morning. Your picture was on the front page. A color photograph of you. I saw those eyes of yours. Such an interesting shade. I wasn’t about to hurt you. Not when I could think of other things to do with you.” She says the last part with a sly grin on her face.  


“And now, you’re a widow. You no longer have to deal with him.”  


“Yes, and I heard that you and John Watson were both here that night. Not sure who took the shot, but it was much appreciated. Bastard wouldn’t grant me a divorce.”  


“You never found out who shot him, then?”  


“I was told a government man with an itchy trigger finger. That to him it looked like he was going to do something to you and, since Mycroft had arrived, that they didn’t want you killed in front of your brother. Now, knowing my late husband, a bit farfetched, but I wouldn’t have put it passed him.”  


“That was the official story put out there.”  


“The official story? So, there’s a true story out there?”  


Sherlock only gives a brief half smile.  


“You came here by yourself. Why didn’t you bring the good doctor?”  


“I wanted to be able to think on my way here.”  


“Mmm, leaving you alone with me.”  


Sherlock stands and walks over to her couch. He sets his glass down on the coffee table and takes hers and does the same. She’s slightly taken by surprise by this, even more so when he sits on the edge of the couch in front of her legs. She stretches her legs out to give him some room. He puts his arms on either side of her, one on the couch seat, the other along the back of the couch, effectively trapping her.  


“Sherlock?”  


He slips the arm that is up on the back of the couch around her waist and shifts her down on the couch, her head now resting on the arm of the couch. His arm stays around her waist and he leans down and kisses her. She slips her arms around his neck. His tongue gently parts her lips and he pulls her tongue into his mouth, gently sucking on it. Her breathing catches and she lets out a small moan. He shifts without breaking the kiss until he’s above her and lowers himself, covering her body with his. She slides her hands into his jacket and slips it off of him, dropping it on the floor next to them. She slips her hands under his arms and up his back to grip his shoulders. With his knee, he parts her legs and settles between her legs. One of his hands goes to the belt tied at her waist and tugs it open. She slips one of her hands back around and up to the back of his head, entwining in his dark curls keeping his head where she wants him, the other goes to his chest, gently pressing up until he rises a short distance so that she can have access to the buttons on his shirt. She makes quick work of the buttons, but Sherlock releases her mouth, sitting up and back on his knees so that he can remove his shirt. She sits up while he’s removing his shirt and works on his trousers, her own dressing gown dipping down and open. She slides his trousers and his briefs down and he removes them the rest of the way. She looks at him and up to his face. He lowers himself again between her parted legs and gently guides her back down. He opens her dressing gown and sees that she is wearing a revealing black and red lacy teddy. He helps her slip the dressing gown off. He traces a finger along the bodice of the teddy.  


“You like, Sherlock?”  


“I’ve never been good with knowing what beauty is.”  


“Well, I do know and I can truly say, Sherlock, that I have never seen a man more beautifully put together as you are.”  


Sherlock removes her teddy and drops it to the floor. She looks up into his turquoise eyes and sees the intensity there.  


“Do you want me inside of you?”  


“Oh, my God, yes.”  


He enters her as she hooks her legs around his hips. She gasps as he fills her, her heart beating hard. His lips descend on hers; his tongue parting her lips and caresses her tongue with his. She moans into his mouth. He moves above her, her arms looping around his shoulders to grip his hard back muscles. He pumps in and partially out, filling her deep. He groans as he keeps pumping her, his movements speeding up. His lips move down to her neck, lingering for a few moments, she sighs in pleasure and his lips move down to capture a nipple. She gives a small squeak as he lightly nips. His tongue circles her nipple, soothing where he nipped. He switches breasts and gives it the same treatment. Her hand comes back around and goes to the back of his head, entwining in his dark curls. He finally relinquishes her breast to move back up to her lips. His lips descend back to hers, his breathing as ragged as hers. His thrusts get harder and faster.  


“You’re right. I did need this.” His voice low against her lips.  


She starts to chuckle and Sherlock thrusts hard. She moans in pleasure; she feels a shiver of pleasure run up her spine. His thrusting is now at a near gallop. She bucks, her orgasm coming on strong. He reaches down to her clit and massages it with a finger, sending her over the edge. She pulls away from his mouth and gives a long throaty moan. Sherlock’s own body starts to rack him hard with his own climax. He finally gives one last hard thrust holding it there for a few moments as he orgasms, he collapses on top of her, her own body also finally relaxing. Her breathing hard, her heart beating fast, as are his own breathing and his heart beating. His head is on her chest, her hand in his damp curls. They both are trying to control their breathing. He pulls out, her eyes close and she sighs. Her eyes open again. Sherlock shifts himself up and rolls her so that she is laying on top of him. He reaches down and snags her dressing gown, throwing it over the both of them. He puts his arms around her, she traces patterns on his chest.  


“Mmm… sex with you, Sherlock, is better than a massage.”  


“Really?” He chuckles. He runs a hand gently up and down her torso.  


Outside, they hear another helicopter landing. Sherlock pops his head up over the sofa. He sees John exiting the helicopter. He flops back down and sighs.  


“Let me guess. The good doctor has just arrived.”  


“Yep.” He pops the letter P.  


Elizabeth sits up, snags the dressing gown and slips it on. She reaches down and grabs her negligee as Sherlock grabs his briefs and slips them back on. He next grabs his trousers and puts them on. Elizabeth saunters up the stairs to the loft bedroom. Sherlock is just zipping up his trousers when John enters the room. Sherlock looks over at his shocked friend. His eyes drop, his hands on the couch, and drums his fingers once. He continues putting his clothes back on. John goes to one of the plush chairs and sits, expectantly, waiting for an explanation.  


As Sherlock is buttoning up his dark purple shirt, without looking up, he asks, “What?”  


“I can’t believe you.”  


“She’s not her brother, John.” His voice is low. He slips his socks and finally his shoes back on. As he does this, Elizabeth wanders back down, wearing a black and red cocktail dress, her hair up in clips in loose waves. She descends the stairs, hand lightly on the handrail.  


“I’m really not, Dr. Watson.”  
Sherlock’s phone rings. He looks at it and rolls his eyes. “Excuse me.” He stands and walks into a nearby room, with Elizabeth’s gaze following him, snapping a “What?” at the caller after answering.  


“Must be Mycroft.” Elizabeth guesses as she walks over to the couch. She crosses her legs, folding her hands around her knees. “You have questions?”  


“Quite a few, yeah. Why are you after Sherlock like this?”  


“I only gave him the short version of my dealings with my brother.”  


“Before or after you two shagged.”  


“So crude, Doctor. I had mentioned seeing his picture in the newspaper. Those eyes of his can make a lass weak in the knees.”  


John, a bit uncomfortable, fidgets and sighs. He clears his throat, waiting for her to go on.  


“That wasn’t the first time I’d seen him, though, nor…” she gives a slow grin and, cheekily, bites her bottom lip. She lifts her eyebrows, suggestively.  


“Excuse me?” she has shocked John.  


“You know my brother’s nicknames for the Holmes brothers?”  


“Yes, he called Mycroft the Ice Man and Sherlock the Virgin.”  


“Half right.”  


“You’re kidding? Please tell me that you’re kidding? I mean how would… you… oh.”  


“Took you a bit to get there.”  


“But he’s only just meeting you recently. He said that he didn’t know you when you were first at the flat.”  


“Well, it has been a long time. University days. He was about 22, I was about 18. I entered uni early. Saw him walking across the campus. Thought he was gorgeous. When I went to uni, though, I had entered under my mum’s maiden name of Hunter. Jim was already making a nuisance of himself. Had to distance myself. I asked one of the blokes that was living in the dorms who he was. Was automatically told to not even try. I asked, why, was he into blokes or did he already have a lass? I was told neither. He was into studying. Most times he could be found in the library and, at times, until 2 in the morning. When nobody was in there.”  


“And that’s where you found him one night, I bet.”  


“Purely by chance, I assure you. I was studying and my dorm mates were partying. I needed quiet and a book that I forgot to grab earlier that day. So, I went to the library and it was midnight. Didn’t really think anyone would be there. Lights were low, so, I had a torch and went looking for that book after putting my things at a table. Found where the book was supposed to be and it wasn’t there. I heard a voice from the couches saying that he had it. I had finally found out his name earlier that day. Someone had greeted him and he barely acknowledged them. Went over to where he was sitting and asked how he knew which book I was looking for.”  


“Let me guess. He gave you an entire deduction?”  


“Sexiest mind I’ve ever known.” John shakes his head and fidgets. “You fluster easily.”  


“I knew you at university?”  


They both look towards Sherlock.  


“Very well.” Her voice drips with innuendo.  


John has a flashback to an event. When they met with Mycroft and the Equerry at Buckingham Palace and learned about Irene Adler. Mycroft had demeaned Sherlock after telling him that The Woman was a Dominatrix. 

“Dominatrix…” pondered Sherlock, looking through pictures.  
Mycroft cut into his thoughts. “Don’t be alarmed. It’s to do with sex.”  
“Sex doesn’t alarm me!” snaps Sherlock, looking up from the pictures at his brother.  
Mycroft sneers. “How would you know?”  
Sherlock just looks at Mycroft with a hard look.

“Mycroft didn’t even know.” Mutters John. He chuckles.  


Both look at him.  


“Mycroft, Sherlock. Remember back to Buckingham Palace? First learning about Irene Adler. Your brother telling us about her,” clears his throat, “profession. You were pondering on it.”  


“My brother being his usual condescending self.” He sits on the couch next to Elizabeth.  


“Care to enlighten me, boys? On Mycroft. Not on Irene. I know who she is and what she does.”  


They look at her, somewhat surprised. Then, it dawns on Sherlock. He’s no longer surprised.  


“Your brother’s client. The one that rented the flat to hide you from your husband.”  


“You never lived with Magnussen?”  


“Never, Dr. Watson. Which irritated him beyond belief. He was spittin. Couldn’t get anything on my family.”  


“Well, his brother told us about Irene being a Dominatrix. Sherlock was pondering on the word and Mycroft told Sherlock to not be alarmed and that it had to do with sex. Sherlock snapped back at his brother and Mycroft became condescending.”  


“Let me guess, he thought Sherlock was still a virgin?” She looks at Sherlock. Off his look. “Please don’t tell me that you forgot about that night? That you think you were still a virgin? You wouldn’t have reacted to me either times, recently, if you forgot. Nor would you have snapped at your brother, as John said you did.”  


“I…” he blinks a few times, trying to recall.  


“Oddly enough, Sherlock, I agree with her. It’s a sense memory.”  


Sherlock tunes both out as he delves into what he called his Mind Palace. He goes back to his university days. To a particular night at the library. It was around midnight. He had gone there to get away from his flat mates. They were partying. He needed the quiet. He had been there for about an hour and he was surrounded by books over on the couches. He heard someone over in the stacks. Suddenly he was seeing that night very clearly.


	5. Uni Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a flashback. In the Mind Palace of Sherlock. Language.

He sighed. He was hoping that his flat mates weren’t bringing their trysts here since it was nice and quiet. His ears pricked. Only one set. Light, not a man’s heavy tread. A woman’s light one. He knew which stack she was in and which book she was looking for. She wouldn’t find it. Not there, anyway. It was next to him. He spoke up.  


“You won’t find it there.”  


“Excuse me?” He was right. Female. Slightly younger than him. Irish, maybe.  


“The book you’re looking for. Grant’s Atlas of Anatomy 9th Edition. I have it, if you need to look at it.” He hears her walking out of the stacks, towards him.  


“And how did you know I was looking for that book?” Definitely Irish.  


“I’ve seen you in my classes. I know that you are a science student, or at least taking the classes. You need that book for the same reason I do. The exam on Friday. Plus, you were in the stack that I got this book out of. It was the only one of these books that was in that stack.”  


“Clever, you are, I’ll give you that. Mind?”  


“Mind what?”  


“If I study here with you?”  


He sighs. “Long as you don’t jabber the entire time.”  


“Hmmm… I see what everyone is talking about. Antisocial.”  


“I try.” The girl chuckles at this.  


Half an hour later, she’s getting frustrated with her book. She sees another, sitting on the other side of Sherlock. He is leaning back on the couch reading his anatomy book, the soft glow of the lamp casting his face into sharp relief. She reaches around him for the book, and he lifts his book, sighing in some annoyance. She grabs the book and starts to straighten back up, bumping into the heavy book in Sherlock’s hands. She winces and hisses a sharp intake through her teeth, rubbing her head.  


Sherlock, now with some concern, asks, “You all right?”  


“Yes. I think so.”  


Not believing her, he sets his book down, slipping a piece of paper between the pages, before closing it. He reaches for her head to examine the spot, she lets him. His hand still in her hair, she turns her head to look up at him, her eyes searching his. He blinks a bit, confused. He gulps, his Adam’s apple working. She lifts a hand to his face, thumb gently caressing his cheek. His eyes go to her hand. He doesn’t pull away. He’s intrigued at her interest, her touch. Nobody usually has this level of interest in him. Usually, it’s Sebastian or Stanford that the ladies go for. He’s not repulsed, certainly. He looks back at her and gets another shock as she leans up and kisses him. He gasps in a sharp intake of air. He’s never been kissed before, nor has he ever kissed anyone. Again, he doesn’t pull away, instead he lets it happen. He lets her lead for a bit before instinct starts taking over and his lips move against hers. He starts kissing her back. Of his own accord, his tongue gently starts parting her lips, finally entering her mouth, his tongue caressing hers. His hand which was just on her head now entwines in her waves. Her hand moves from his cheek to entwine in his dark curly hair. She starts gently pulling him with her as she leans backwards onto her back. He doesn’t resist and follows her, still kissing her, his heart beating hard. What seems like minutes of kissing, Elizabeth reaches for the buttons on his shirt and opens his shirt up. She helps him slip it off, managing to not break the kiss. He reaches down to the hem of her blouse and lifts it up, only breaking the kiss for the instant it takes to remove it. He looks down at her full breasts for a short moment before his lips descend back to hers, his hands going to her breasts. They remove the rest of their clothes. Sherlock lays between her legs, the tip of his cock just at her core.  


“Are you sure, Elizabeth?”  


“Bloody hell, Sherlock! I’m going up in smoke over here! Fuck me!”  


He thrusts in, hearing her suck air through her teeth. She gasps and Sherlock leans up quickly in surprise, but Elizabeth wraps her legs around his hips, keeping him inside her.  


“Damage done, Sherlock. Just stay still for a moment. So, I can adjust. You’re bigger than I thought you’d be.”  


After a minute, she moves under him and he descends back down to her lips, starting to thrust inside of her. She moans into his mouth, he groans. His thrusts grow deeper and faster. He reaches down to massage her clit. She throws her head back and lets out a throaty moan, she can feel the orgasm coming on. Sherlock kisses her throat, under her chin, and finally capturing her lips again. She grabs his ass with one hand and clutches his upper back muscles with the other. He rides her harder and faster until he feels his body stiffen, Elizabeth’s bucks, her orgasm coming fast and hard. Sherlock thrusts hard once more. They both collapse in each other’s arms, satisfied, Sherlock’s head resting on Elizabeth’s chest, her hands entwined in his curls. He pulls out of her and Elizabeth sighs in contentment.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time that anyone has seen my fanfic. Hope that you enjoy.


End file.
